


Dialog - Freedom

by glacis



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-29
Updated: 2010-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-06 19:29:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glacis/pseuds/glacis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A meditation on his second chance by the pilot of the Voyager.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dialog - Freedom

_Dialog (freedom): A Star Trek Voyager vignette by Sue Castle. _

There were times when freedom was almost more of a joy than he could handle.

He was used to being the cynic. A sarcastic sense of humor, honed to a razor-sharp edge by a succession of less than optimal life experiences, served him well as a shield between himself and the rest of the world. The world-weariness in his steady sapphire eyes was not all for show. Harry really would be surprised by some of the things he had learned in prison. Probably even more surprised by the things he'd learned, and learned well, before he ever made it as far as the Auckland penal settlement.

"There are no indications of pursuers, Captain."

"Very good, Mr. Tuvok. Mr. Kim, damage report."

Never show them that it hurts. Never let them see you lose. Never, ever let them see the defenses fall. Don't be too happy, or they'll see you as a sap, and try to take advantage of it. Stay away from close friendships, because, really, in the end, they never work out, and the so-called friends will turn on you. It's not you they want, it's the best pilot at the academy, the shining star, the admiral's son. And later, the screw-up, the irresponsible one, the convict. Not so wanted now, and he told himself it was better that way.

After all, he wasn't exactly a good luck charm.

But sometimes, when he wasn't looking, some of the joy crept in and threw him for a loop.

"All systems secure, Captain." A young voice, only shaking slightly.

Like Harry. Who chose his own friends, and for some bizarre reason had chosen him. Harry the straitlaced sobersides, the good kid. Tom Paris would have denied it to anyone who pried, but he felt responsible for Harry. In a way, the Ensign was like the kid brother he wished he'd had. Someone who actually looked up to him, and he couldn't for the life of him figure out why. A guy who knew the truth and liked him anyway. He shook his head, an unconsciously wry gesture, and grinned. The old fashioned definition of a friend.

And every once in awhile, the other major perk of freedom would come alive under his hands, and he'd say a silent prayer of thanks to whatever Deity hadn't abandoned him. Voyager. A dream con, a living thing under his command, in the way that counted. Any pilot's number one wish list babe. A nearly sentient ship, and with the improvements that B'Elanna kept coming through with, a dream come true to fly.

"Only minor fluctuations in the power outputs, Captain. We should have everything back to normal soon. Lucky they didn't hit anywhere vulnerable..."

There were times when he could swear the ship could hear his thoughts, when she responded to his commands almost before he touched the buttons. Times like now, when the V'dians had closed in, and she had had to spin on her tail like a top, dizzying, mind-stealing maneuvers, in and around and over until they were at her mercy ... and Janeway had shown them none. Given them the measure of mercy they had shown B'Elanna, himself, poor Pete Durst. And it had been Voyager, he and Voyager, who had been the instrument of that vengeance. When they flew like that, every cell of his body was alive with the dance, and he never felt more alive or more ... free.

"Luck and skill, B'Elanna." Janeway's rejoinder barely registered.

The klaxons were silenced, the muted lighting signifying the red alert had given way to normal soft blue-white. All the stations were manned by (now) calm professionals. No way to tell by looking at them that only moments ago they had been in a battle for their lives, and it was the inspired flying skills of the ship's pilot that had pulled them from death to victory. No way to tell from the composed exterior of the fair-haired young man at the helm what exultation raged in his chest, tightened his stomach, made his skin tingle. Unless one looked closely, and saw the fire so carefully banked in his eyes.

"Nice flying, Mr. Paris." A quiet comment, command and congratulation in the strong feminine voice.

"Thank you, Captain." Only the stars on the front screen saw the quick slice of feral smile that showed his heart before it disappeared. Only the usual smug satisfaction could be heard in his light voice. But behind those glittering eyes, his mind sang a paean to freedom.

end


End file.
